Dancing Flames
by Sparkly Faerie
Summary: Oneshot. They had their difficulties, but whenever anyone was asked to think of them in years to come, they could all—quite clearly—remember them laughing, or kissing, or sitting together, or dancing. Always dancing. JPLE


**Inspiration struck in the form of (can you believe it?) a line in a Lady Gaga song. Bonus points to whoever guesses what the song and/or the line was!**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it. All rights to Harry Potter and affiliated products belong to Ms J.K. Rowling and the other proper entities.

**Summary:** They had their difficulties, but whenever anyone was asked to think of them in years to come, they could all—quite clearly—remember them laughing, or kissing, or sitting together, or dancing. Always dancing.

**Rating:** K+

**Genre:** Romance

**Warnings:** None.

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><p><strong>Dancing Flames<strong>

That had known, going into it, that it wasn't going to be easy. They knew that they were going to be scrutinised and ridiculed, possibly attacked for their relationship, but they'd resolved to try to make it work.

They fought. They fought a _whole_ lot. They were explosive in their arguments, shouting loud enough to make poor little first years scamper away in terror. More than once they had been put in detention for their fights, Professor McGonagall breathing down their neck as they untransfigured botched class attempts from fifth year.

The pressure got to her, one time in the middle of April, and she broke things off with him—and therein had followed the most miserable three weeks of the Gryffindor seventh year dormitories. The split was the talk of the school, going from one gossiping third year to another, and all their dorm mates could ask was _why_? Rumours of 'he cheated', or 'she fancies someone else' ran rampant for three whole weeks before they finally swallowed their pride and managed to get back together.

It had put _them_, at least, out of their misery.

She was always worried about the other girls. Not that he would cheat on her—he wasn't that kind of bloke and… well, he just wasn't, and she knew it. No, if there was one thing she never worried about, it was that he would cheat on her. But the other girls (particularly the pureblood girls) glared at her as she walked by. One time, when she was walking alone for a meeting with Professor McGonagall, a girl had attacked her from behind. She never found out who it was, but the words "You've got no right to sully a pureblood like James Potter with your filthy presence, Mudblood!" and the hex in the back had made it clear that there were those who were not opposed to violence to get her away from him.

Their relationship was _fire_. They snapped at each other and pawed at each other and cried on each others' shoulders and they even shagged in a broom closet once, during her (_very brief_) rebellion against authority.

They were fire, and they burned everything that tried to touch them.

There was a bloke, once, who tried to make a move on her in the third floor corridor. She had been coming from Arithmancy, which she didn't share with her significant other, and a Ravenclaw boy had approached her and propositioned her. He refused to take 'no' for an answer until she threatened him. She later told her boyfriend and he had put him in the hospital wing.

Of course, they weren't only the destructive kind of fire. There was something about them, something that no one (not even a certain Slytherin who would have liked to rip the boyfriend's heart out and trample it) could deny. They were the quick fire of destruction, but they were also the slow, all-consuming fire of passion.

It was obvious. At the end of the year, when she was asked why they'd bothered to stick it out, she'd simply shrugged and said "I love him." Everyone knew that he reciprocated.

It was in their eyes whenever they looked at each other. Her eyes, the colour of jade, lit up whenever he entered the room—of course, this had always been the case, but it was a different kind of sparkle now. Where, before, her eyes burned with anticipation of another verbal sparring match, they now shone with the simple happiness of seeing him. His eyes, as always, sought her out every time he entered a room—when they met, his face would always split into a large, charming grin.

She could never help but smile back.

They had their difficulties, but whenever anyone was asked to think of them in years to come, they could all—quite clearly—remember them laughing, or kissing, or sitting together, or dancing.

Always dancing.

Their first date, in November, they'd literally danced back to the castle. The process had taken about five times as long as it would have if they'd simply walked, but he had insisted on twirling her every so often, catching her around the waist and dipping her so low that her hair (almost the same deep red as half the leaves that littered the ground) brushed the grass. He'd been almost giddy, coming close to dropping her more than once, but she'd shrieked with laughter and hadn't thought about the dangers of falling.

It wasn't unusual for them to be spotted dancing.

They didn't need _music_. She liked the feeling of twirling, and spinning, and of the brilliant exertion of moving to some undefinable rhythm. On Christmas day they'd taken to the lawns with the other Gryffindors, and had simply twirled around in the snow while their Housemates laughed and pelted snowballs at each other. He'd been laughing, and she had been breathless and flushed, and he had twirled her under his arm and dipped her into a sweet kiss that earned a wolf whistle from one of his mates. One of hers had pelted him with a snowball while the others laughed.

At graduation, they'd earned the cheers of the staff and students when he'd danced her off the stage after proposing.

At their wedding, they had ignored the music and danced to their own rhythm. It had been just as exhilarating and exciting as it had been the first time, when they'd danced back to the castle.

Of course, things were never easy for them.

Of course, they were ridiculed and scrutinised.

Of course, they fought loudly and publicly.

But they were like fire.

And, like fire, they danced.

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><p><strong>I know it's cliché to compare them to fire… but whatever. I like the metaphor.<strong>

**Thanks for reading! Review and lemme know what you think?**

**Sparkly Faerie**


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